=|$3.00 FIRECRACKER LAND Pictures of the Chinese World for Young Readers By Florence Ayscough In this rich and delightful book, Florence Ayscough, a long-time resi- dent of China, helps readers young and old to understand the mysterious China of the present and of the recent past as well as the ancient land from which both have evolved. In her de- scription of Chinese arts, she ex- plains the making of Chinese gar- dens — the cultivating of flowers is one of the seven fine arts in China — and how they are planned to repre- sent hills, lakes, valleys, and ancient ruins. She tells also of the Chinese fondness for poetry, which extends from the most learned scholars down to the humblest, and of the swift- working Chinese artists who produce their marvelous paintings almost at a stroke. As they say themselves, their method is to “Thinkee, thinkee long time, then do chop-chop.’ ‘Young readers will especially enjoy the author's own childhood experi- ences, the story of her dog Yo Fei, the description of the young carpen- ters who helped to build the author's house, and such passages as the New ~_ Year's offering by two boys to the Patron Saint of the Kitchen Stove. Many pen-and-ink drawings by Lucille Douglas add to the charm of the book, which will be enjoyed by every reader of twelve years or more. WVvade Pass eam Ks@ 4 BREN a unl 1 gin Aléy) u (the transliteration used is that of thePast Office) Scale of Miles © 108 200 «300 400 soo 600 Semen teeter Let oad)SOUTH CHINA SEA (wan Hat)FIRECRACKER LAND Pictures of the Chinese World Sor Younger Readers yy, % os 7 "eM, OZ dp lis she Ue bor cook may not 1eave nod YY ‘ ed must be retUP THE YANGTZE KIANGFIRECRACKER LAND Pictures of the Chinese World for Younger Readers By FLORENCE AYSCOUGH With Illustrations by LUCILLE DOUGLASS Boston and New York HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY ‘The Riverside Press Cambridge 1932te a ‘COPYRIGHT, 1932, BY FLORENCE AYSCOUGH = {01 RlonTs RESERVED CLUDING ZH RIGHT 0 REPRODUCE THIS HOOF OF PARIS THEREOF 16 AY FORM ‘The Riverside Press PRINTED INTHE USA,TO JOHN HOLDEN, Esq. You, Sir, in your days of youth and strength have met with dangerous times; your intelligence, bright as sun and moon, Is an aid to the administration; the courageous vigor of your bearing is a very real comfort to the people. Altars of State to the Spirits of Earth, to the Spirits of Grain, are now restored; The tangle of calamity, the fierce fighting, have ceased; if it be not you, Sir, who has done this thing? Tu Fu: The Autobiography of a Chinese PoetCONTENTS . Pictures oF a CuinesE BackGrounp I. il. Iv. . Picrures or THE Seven Fine Arts or CHIna VI. VII. Picrures UNDER A CHINESE RIDGEPOLE Picrures or My FRrienps Pictures From 4 Lirtte Doo’s Writinc-Brusa Prcrures or TRAVEL Picrures ForesHADOWED 39 gt 113 185 229 339ABOUT FLORENCE AYSCOUGH (who wrote the book) By Lucite Dovctass (who drew the pictures) We sat in Florence Ayscough’s upstairs study at St. Andrews, in New Brunswick, looking through the broad window laced with branches, across the Bay of Plentiful Fish. I had found her there at her desk, a vivid figure in scarlet and purple — the colours which she has made peculiarly her own and of which she has woven brilliant patterning across her allotted space in the tapestry of life. Her profile showed clear-cut against the dark frame of a mirror in which was reflected the brilliant green of the leaves outside, dancing in the sunlight. The neck- lace of opals she wore sent back this brightness in myriad shafts of colour, making a perfect setting for the por- trait I had come to paint. The colours fairly sang — the colours on my palette answered, but over my soul settled the shadow of utter inadequacy. ‘Ah,’ I ex- claimed, paraphrasing Li T’ai-po, who has referred to ‘the bitterness of writing poetry,’ ‘I feel the bitterness of painting portraits.’ One can put on canvas the finely modelled features, carved in broad planes, as if sculptured from marble; the black hair, with its peculiar dusky purple quality, folding itself into a frame for the face, but it is another matter to fix the lightning shift of expression that har- monizes with her quickly moving mind — like the play of light and shade on the surface of the mirror.x INTRODUCTION Before my eyes rose innumerable pictures against innumerable backgrounds. In place of the mirror and its gay reflections, I saw her sitting in front of the Moon Fireplace in her ‘Grass Hut’ on the Yellow Reach, where so often I literally sat at her feet and listened while she read her newest translation or talked of the Chinese culture which forms the background of her life. Sometimes it was the theatre of which she is so fond and which we often attended together, accompanied by the Number Two Boy, who translated for us. Again, it was the intimate happenings of the household — for Mrs. Ayscough always takes the keenest interest in all those who touch her life, however casually. Her range of in- terests ran the gamut from the larger concerns of war relief to the home for Chinese girls who were salvaged from unspeakable misery and hardship and cared for until suitable marriages could be arranged for them. She is peculiarly sympathetic with young people. One incident comes vividly to my mind. Pavlova was giving a series of performances in Shanghai. Mrs. Ayscough had a birthday party for me, taking us later to see the famous dancer. Pavlova was impersonating the French doll. Looking at her exquisite dance, it seemed to me such a pity to be grown up and disil- lusioned, and I said to Mrs. Ayscough: ‘When I see that, I long to be ten years old. How I wish every child in Shanghai could watch that doll come to life. It would be like seeing a miracle.’ Instantly her face lit up. ‘They shall see it!’ she exclaimed. No sooner said than done. An early morning visit to Pavlova. A conference with the manager of the theatre.INTRODUCTION xi A matinée was arranged. The schools were notified. The house was filled with eager faces. The curtain went up and the miracle happened. When the curtain fell in the last number, there was a great sigh — but for a little space the children had dwelt in paradise. In the years that I have known Florence Ayscough, I have many times been puzzled that she is so deeply rooted in the Far East, with so complete an understand- ing of the ancient Chinese thought and culture as if she were one with them. This is all the more strange be- cause her ancestors were of New England stock. It is very unusual that an Occidental is so at home in Ori- ental processes of thought — just as if they spoke the same language. Not only does she understand them, but is able in her writings to make others understand them, which in itself is a rare gift. Mrs. Ayscough writes of China from within; putting into her vivid telling not only the pageantry of that age- old country, for she has travelled from east to west and from north to south the roads of ancient culture, but describing with a deep conviction the customs and man- ners, the religious teachings and cults. It is this deep understanding of the hidden forces which are shaping modern China today that is so sadly lacking in the average Westerner. Present-day China can only be measured in terms of the past centuries, for it is upon the culture of those past centuries that the foundations of the modern China are being laid, how- ever vigorously young China may protest. China has always looked backward for her inspiration, even though her steps went forward. The events of the past twenty years prove this to be true. Like so many ofxii INTRODUCTION the modern buildings one sees in the newer parts of the cities, which have been remodelled in the rush of pro- gress, the front is pure English style, but within pure Chinese. They turn back upon themselves — it is at once their strength and their weakness; but out of this curious inversion a new China is slowly but surely growing — a China that we of today must reckon with, for with the future of China is bound up the future of Asia and the peace of the world. The problems of China which are confronting the world today will still confront the world of tomorrow; they are the heritage of the next generation. So any light that can be thrown upon them is of vital impor- tance. In this book for young people, Mrs. Ayscough has given generously of her wealth of knowledge of Chinese culture. From her years of study and travel she has woven a rich tapestry against which the events of today and tomorrow can be seen in sharp relief. You boys and girls of today, born into a world of inter- national problems, will accept with keen comprehension the manifold ramifications of an alien civilization; and in the light of this comprehension, you will find under- standing, which will give you a feeling of friendship for those of many countries. I feel a close kinship with ‘A Chinese Mirror’ and ‘Pictures of the Chinese World,’ for it has been in this collaboration, if an illustrator may so dignify her work, that I have been brought into close contact with Mrs. Ayscough. It has given me, too, a new insight into her many-sided character; one phase especially, that might be called the keynote—an absolutely undeviating devotion to the truth. This unswerving loyalty on herINTRODUCTION xiii part and my artistic impressionism often brought me in sharp contact with unexpected corners. This same divergence of viewpoint was introduced when I was painting the slides for her lecture on Tu Fu. I looked at them from the pictorial angle, she from the point of the incident she wished to illustrate. She is a very artistic as well as competent photographer, which en- ables her to record the exact place desired for the slide, and prefers, if possible, to use her own photographs for her lectures. Her whole attitude toward life is constructive; she attacks a building problem with the same buoyant en- thusiasm with which she approaches a new literary task, and does it as thoroughly. In the building of ‘The Grass Hut’ by the Yellow Reach in Shanghai, she fol- lowed to the smallest detail the ceremonies used by the Chinese in the construction of a Kiangsu farmhouse. Scholar, musician, artist and poet, but most of all a gracious woman, her enthusiasm for life makes radiant all who come her way. Lucite DouctassFIRECRACKER LAND CHAPTER I PICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND. _ The work of my life can only cease when my coffin is closed Until then my resolve, my yearning to comprehend is unchanging. 7 Tu Fu: The Autobiography of a Chinese PoeteuneFIRECRACKER LAND CHAPTER I Pictures of a Chinese Background A CHILD IN CHINA I was born in Shanghai. My earliest recollections are of the wide sky and sweeping plain of the Yangtze Val- ley. My father, a Nova Scotian, and my mother, a Bostonian, were among the early foreign residents in that port which has now become one of the great cities of the world. Papa owned the fleet of cargo boats which still travel to Woosung at the mouth of the Yangtze River, there to load and unload the big foreign ships. In the early days the Tug and Lighter Company, as it is called, was a much smaller affair than it is now, but it was always exciting to watch busy steam launches towing the cargo boats — which look for all the world like black beetles. When we arrived or left on our various journeys, we always travelled between Woo- sung and Shanghai on a special launch, and that was exciting too, especially to a wide-eyed child like myself. Nowadays the stretch of river, fourteen miles in length, leading to the mouth of the Whangpoo, has been deep- ened and straightened, so that big ships often come up to the Shanghai Bund, but if they do lie at Woosung passengers are brought up by one of the tugs belonging to the company which Papa founded so long ago. He4 FIRECRACKER LAND loved his steam launches and his cargo boats almost as much as he did us, his children, and was always dashing about, inspecting, organizing, and visiting ships in his energetic, decided way. The house I was born in is now the International Club. If you drive out the famous Bubbling Well Road MODERN CITY OF SHANGHAI AND AGE-OLD JUNKS from the Bund in Shanghai, you will see it standing on the right-hand side, less than a mile beyond the Defence Creek. A mile farther on you come to the Bubbling Well itself. Now it is surrounded by houses, but in my childhood it seemed the Well at the edge of the world. It was a real adventure to walk out there, to be lifted up between the granite Fo dogs which stood at the four corners of the well, and to gaze down into its green bubbling depths. Even now I never miss an opportunity,PICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 5 when in Shanghai, of visiting the spot and recapturing that thrill. But to go back to the house, which looks now much as it did then, although my beloved garden has van- ished. When I was small the garden seemed enormous. An oval drive led up to the great creamy-white house, covered with yellow roses. During the short season of their bloom, the gardeners cut them by the hundred. Every morning Mamma arranged them in shallow bas- kets, and they were piled into the trap in which Papa drove himself to the office. This was a high dogcart with red wheels, drawn by a stocky Mongolian pony. So every morning we watched it dash round the oval drive, and knew how busy Papa’s office coolies were soon to be delivering the roses to our friends in Town. In those days the garden was my world, where I could run about as I liked. There, a big-eyed child with long straight hair and a bang across her forehead, I rode solemnly round and round on my donkey for miles and miles. He was a fearfully clever donkey named Neddie, coloured grey and white. He used to come up the long flight of steps on to the verandah, enter the dining- room, and trot daintily round the table collecting his tribute of sugar from each of us. Neddie was so famous for his cleverness that when the Amateur Dramatic So- ciety put on ‘Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves,’ he was asked to appear on the stage. He was pampered for the rest of his life on the strength of the great renown he won carrying the goods of the Merchant Ali Baba to market in the play. Neddie was given to the Arch- deacon’s son when we left China, so my donkey stepped6 FIRECRACKER LAND on his delicate little feet from the theatrical to the ecclesiastical world! After Neddie came Brownie, my pony. He was bay with black points, a beautiful little creature like a diminutive horse. He came from Formosa. His carriage had a tan awning and scallops bound with red, and how proudly I drove him while my small Mafoo ran pant- ing at his head! He and Neddie both lived with the riding and car- riage ponies, and no pleasure was more exquisite to me than going into the stables with Papa. There stood the ponies in two long rows, warmly covered with their yellow blankets. The Number One Mafoo — that is, the coachman — always handed me a bundle of freshly washed carrots with which I fed the ponies one by one, and a little shiver ran down my spine as the big white teeth progressed, bite by bite, nearer my hand. But my goose was my great friend and my greatest joy. He had been sent from one of Papa’s office staff as a New Year’s gift. He was of course a white goose, but he arrived all stained with red, the colour of happiness. He and I took an immense fancy to each other. (People were unkind enough to say that like attracted like!) He used to sit on my knee — he never bit me, though he was perfectly detestable to everyone else — and, putting his long neck around mine under my hair, he would gently rub my ear with his beak. But his man- ners to our guests! He used to take hold of the men’s trousers with his strong knobbed yellow beak, and whack violently at their shins with his big wings. Im- possible to dislodge him! They used to shout for help until I, his only friend, came to take him away. He wasPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 7 almost as big as I at that time. I don’t know what be- came of him. In the end, he had become so thoroughly unpopular that he was quietly made to disappear. Then there was the aviary, very fascinating to me as achild. It was on the top of the rockery, and in it were golden pheasants and many other bright-plumaged birds. I loved particularly the Mandarin ducks, which were bottle-green and deep blue like the night sky. The Chinese make this bird, in pairs, the emblem of married happiness, for if the cock and the hen are separated, they die of grief. Below the aviary was the long arbour covered with roses that made a lovely pattern of sun and shadow on the ground beneath. Near by grew yellow and red cox- combs which I used to pick and put in little cages. I pretended they were my red and yellow parrots. THE BIRTH OF AMBITION When I was nine, a great resolution took shape. I decided to play the violin. To my astonishment I met with opposition from all my family, especially from my mother, who had already observed in me enthusiasms that were short-lived. Still, in the end I got my violin, and Mr. Iburg, a middle-aged German, was engaged as my teacher. Then came long hours of practice — and I confess there were times I wished my parents had con- tinued to refuse me. Nevertheless, I stuck to it. There was a most charming old gentleman named Mr. Hearn who used to play the ’cello with my mother every Sunday evening. He seemed to me very, very old, but I was very fond of him and he was extremely interested in my musical studies. When Remenyi, the8 FIRECRACKER LAND famous violinist, came to Shanghai, I was taken for the first time to the theatre in the evening! It seemed to me to be the middle of the night. It was perfectly dark, with all the light concentrated on the violinist on the stage. I was standing entranced at the front of the box, and after Remenyi had executed a particularly brilliant passage, Mr. Hearn leaned forward and whispered very gently, ‘When you can play like that I will give you a silver sixpence!’ It was shortly after this that I decided to become a bareback rider in a circus. You in the West who go to three-ring circuses can hardly conceive how intensely excited we were over the tiny travelling show that came to Shanghai: one fat white horse, one baby elephant, one marvellous equestrienne in pink tarlatan, and all about the edges of the ring the faces of the rich Chinese who had flocked to see this example of Western culture! Well, I decided to be a circus rider. My stern parents refused to allow me to practise either on my pony or the donkey, so I was forced to rig up an inanimate substitute on which I balanced precariously, jumping at intervals through home-made paper hoops. All this took place in the garden, which was still my world, for little European children who lived in China in those days lived very isolated lives. Our chambermaids and parlourmaids and cooks were not maids at all, they were men, except our nurses, who were called Amahs. There were a good many of these men maids, but they did not all live at our house. They came to us at certain hours of the day or night, and went home to their families outside the grounds. The head of them all, and the benevolent despot ofPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 9 the whole establishment, was our butler, a dignified and imposing old Chinese with a beautifully kept pig- tail, and a long silk robe. Mamma turned to him in every emergency. I remember one occasion when she and I were sitting by the drawing-room fire waiting for Papa to come home from his office. It was a dark win- ter afternoon. Mamma, I remember, wore a grey- green tea gown with creamy lace, and I, a solemn child looking up at her from a footstool, wore the red dress in which I came down to the drawing-room after tea. It was the hour when Mamma read to me. The curtains were drawn, the lamplight was soft, and the fire burning brightly. Suddenly we heard the wheels of my father’s dog- cart and the short sharp click of his China pony’s hoofs, which ring so differently from those of a long- legged horse. Papa came in looking rather excited. ‘Edith,’ he said to my mother, ‘the houseboat must be ready to go up-country tomorrow morning. The Duke of Clarence and Prince George are going to use it for their shooting trip.’ “My dear Tom,’ cried Mamma, ‘the quilts are not fit to be seen! I can’t have the Queen’s grandsons use them as they are now!’ As she spoke, she rang the bell and told the boy who answered it to call the butler. While we were waiting for the great man, Papa explained that the young Eng- lish princes, one of whom is now King George V of Eng- land, had suddenly decided upon this shooting trip up-country, and that our beloved boat the Ariadne had been chosen for their use.10 FIRECRACKER LAND ‘Zee Butler’ appeared. (He never just entered a room, he always ceremoniously appeared.) The situa- tion was put before him. ‘How fashion can do?’ cried my mother anxiously. ‘Zee Butler’ smiled. “Can do,’ he replied briefly. My parents sighed with relief. No inquiry was necessary as to how he was to materialize in one night two new quilts, and no one was surprised when next morning beautifully wadded quilts of crimson silk shot with blue were ready to be taken to the houseboat in Papa’s red-wheeled dogcart. I may say here that when we finally retired from China, Papa started our butler as a dairyman in reward for his long faithful service, and for years ‘Zee Butler’ was one of the principal dairymen in Shanghai. All this time I haven’t said anything about school — because there was none. I went to the convent for French. I had a German governess who taught me German, which indeed I spoke before I spoke English. Mamma taught me reading, writing, and arithmetic, especially the last, at which she was exceptionally good, and at which I have always been exceptionally dull. So every morning after breakfast there was a battle royal between Mamma and me in the field of mental arithmetic. THE CHILD TRAVELS TO AMERICA By this time I was about nine, and, a veritable caval- cade, we started, by way of the Suez Canal, for Europe, thence across the Atlantic to America. This, of course, was not my first long journey. I had already been round the world several times, and every summer we travelledPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 11 up the China coast to escape the heat of the Yangtze Valley. I have used the word ‘cavalcade.’ It was one, in- deed. There was Papa, there was Mamma, there was myself, and to take care of me — although she liked my young brother much better — was Lena, the Ger- man governess. There was my little brother Geoffrey; a baby sister Marjorie with her Amah. There was Ah Ming in his long blue cotton robe and pigtail; he took care of everybody. And last, but most important, there was the Amah’s teapot in its padded straw case. The Amah’s teapot was always getting lost, and without it she would not budge. Oh, that teapot! It went astray in Italy, it was left in the train in France, in London a helmeted police- man rescued it, and I’m sure Papa breathed a sigh of relief when at long last it was safely deposited in Boston. By the time we reached that city with its gilded State House dome, the cavalcade was even larger than be- fore. Papa had bought two sporting dogs in England, a retriever and a pointer — Herbert and Edward. THE CHILD IN BOSTON We spent a winter in Boston, and it was an epoch- making winter for me. For the first time I went to school, and for the first time I knew what it was to have lots of friends. In China, European children were very few, and Chinese children of the educated classes did not entertain European children, nor, if we had met, could we have talked with one another, for I spoke no Chinese, and their parents would, at that time, never have dreamed of allowing them to learn any of the bar-12 FIRECRACKER LAND barous languages of Europe. We all spoke pidgin Eng- lish with the Chinese staff. Pidgin English, a language which has grown up grad- ually, is easier than plain English for the Chinese to understand because the construction is exactly that of Chinese: one first states clearly the subject of one’s con- versation, and then elaborates. For instance, ordinarily speaking we would say, ‘There is a large, handsome, beautifully cushioned, bright blue motor-car.’ If one were speaking pidgin English, however, one would say: ‘motor-car have got, b’long [the word used for ‘it is’] too much large, number one handsome, inside have got velly good cushion, colour b’long blue.’ The language was first talked by the European traders in Canton, but is slowly dying out. As a child I spoke it fluently and have done so ever since. After the cavalcade had settled down in Boston, it at- tracted immense interest — especially the Chinese mem- bers thereof in their native costume, Amah in her trousers and Ah Ming in his long blue robe. I remember one Saturday morning when Mamma took me down into the kitchen. This was a great treat, for in China neither Mamma nor I ever entered our kitchen. There, the cook, a fat old Chinese, always came to the dining-room for his orders. However, in Boston things were different. On this morning to our amazement we found, sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a hearty breakfast, a large, cheerful, and very disreputable tramp. At our entrance he looked up good-naturedly and said, pointing with his thumb towards Ah Ming, ‘It’s all right, Missus, the lady in the blue dress asked me in.” Poor Ah Ming! Mamma noticed that he went outPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 13 less and less, and at last discovered that the quite nat- ural interest which his blue gown excited embarrassed him so much that rather than face the curious crowds in the streets he stayed at home day after day. So Papa sent him to get himself some American clothes. I shall never forget Ah Ming’s reappearance! We were all sitting in the library when there was a timid knock at the door. Making himself as small as possible — he was at largest only about as big as a minute — Ah Ming slid sheepishly through the barest crack and stood revealed in a grey flannel coat and trousers, his pigtail wrapped round his head, and a felt hat with a wide brim held in both hands. Never was there a more unhappy Chinese boy! To begin with, he who was so exceedingly polite always, was now much against his will committing two unpardonable rude- nesses. In China a man of good breeding always wears his hat in the house. And it is considered very rude to wind the pigtail round the head. Piteously aware that he was committing these two enormities of bad conduct, Ah Ming shrank back against the door and waited mutely, with shamed eyes, for the verdict. Papa gave it unhesitatingly. Striving to suppress his mirth he said, ‘So fashion never can. More better chop chop puttee Chinese clothes.’ Radiant with relief, Ah Ming vanished like a flash to put on his blue robe, and the grey flannel suit was never seen again. CHINA AGAIN ‘Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months,’ as the Chinese story-tellers say, and it was time for the14 FIRECRACKER LAND cavalcade to start once more for China. It set sail from San Francisco in the late autumn. Our ship, the smart new Arabic, was expected to do the trans-Pacific journey to Yokohama in the then unbelievably short time of seventeen days! But from the moment we left the Golden Gate the wind was ahead and the weather was — beyond speech. Day after day the ship climbed the green waves, trembled for a moment on the crest, and slid down into the valley on the farther side. One of my most vivid recollections is of the ship lying in the trough of the sea, completely surrounded by green glass mountains. From the deck-chair in which I was firmly tied, I used to look up at them and wonder if she would ever manage to climb out again. For twenty-six mortal days this went on. Captain Perrin, who seemed to me a very old grey man, looked sterner and greyer at every meal. But as the ship finally neared Yokohama, he appeared in full-dress uniform to celebrate our de- liverance. I gazed with awe at the profusion of gold braid on his long frock coat and saw with surprise that he looked not much older than Papa. It was only afterward that I learned we entered port with only six hours’ coal left in the ship. As we lay in the port an absurd incident happened. A Japanese, most beautifully dressed in European clothes (which at that time was unusual), had come down to meet the ship. A few drops of rain fell. He looked up in apprehension at the sky, down in conster- nation at his clothes — and proceeded to take them off! One by one coat, waistcoat, collar, necktie, shirt — even trousers — came off and were folded neatly in a large purple handkerchief produced from his pocket.PICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 15 In the end the erstwhile dandy stood ready to brave the elements in the scant jersey which Japanese wear under the kimono. HOUSEBOATING IN THE YANGTZE VALLEY Having once known the joy of many friends in Boston, T felt lonely in Shanghai and was allowed to go about more than ever before with my parents. When Mamma and Papa went up-country on shooting expeditions, they took me with them. I remember those trips so vividly. We went in houseboats up the canals. These houseboats were very broad, flat-bottomed craft, each with a large cabin containing two berths. Behind the cabin was a little dressing-room, where Ah Ming slept on the floor. Behind that was the after deck, where the crew of five men used to squat in a circle and eat their rice cooked on a brazier. They slept under the after deck. Beyond our cabin was a little kitchen where the cook managed to produce marvellous meals, though he never seemed to bring anything with him but a round pan and a pair of chop- sticks. The boat was propelled by an enormous oar called a yu-lo, by which four or five Chinese standing in line and working rhythmically together sculled the boat. Meanwhile two others, pacing slowly on the towpath, drew the boat by means of ropes fastened to a wooden bar across their breasts. By day we sat on the wide forward deck watching the level landscape glide by. In the autumnit had the deep purple brown of dead cotton stalks, in the winter it was the softer brown of old grass, and in the spring it was16 FIRECRACKER LAND HOUSEBOATS MET ON THE WAY vivid with the yellow of rape and the pink of peach blossom. At night, curled under one of the famous red silk quilts, I would lie listening to the soft rhythmic thud ofPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 17 feet on the after deck as the crew swung to the yu-lo. The boat made scarcely a ripple as she cut through the dark glassy surface of the canal, but when she was drawn over a fish weir, the bamboos brushed under her keel with a most delicious swish-sh-sh. These were the quiet nights in the country, but when we approached a market town, where the boats were crowded together on the surface of the water, the noise was like Bedlam let loose! The shrill voices of boat- women, the hoarse shouts of coolies, the scraping of bamboo poles, the bumping of boats one against another, the howling of children (who were all tethered on the decks of their floating homes by means of a har- ness of ropes round their padded little bodies), the crowing and cackling of chickens (also tethered), and the barking of the little watchdogs who ran up and down the decks in wildest excitement —all this deafened us as our Ariadne nosed her way in among them. I remember one occasion when we nearly had a tragedy. We visited the large city of Hangchow on the west lake so famous for its beauty. On the return journey to the houseboat, Ah Ming somehow lost us, and when we reached the Ariadne he was nowhere to be seen. We were horrified, because Ah Ming was a Can- tonese from South China and could hardly make him- self understood in Hangchow, where the language spoken was entirely different. Papa was dreadfully upset and I was almost in tears. We had intended to start at once for Shanghai, but of course we could not bear to leave Ah Ming behind. For two days Papa combed the city of Hangchow; he inter- viewed missionaries and magistrates and even searched18 FIRECRACKER LAND all the prisons. When there was nothing more to be done, we started sadly for home again, leaving Hang- chow covered with placards offering a large reward for the finding of a Cantonese boy named Ah Ming. le 'r My ‘ih hy ih N iY, ét a “4 \ ae Ms ‘A HANGCHOW GARDEN When we reached home the door was opened — by Ah Ming! Ah Ming, smiling and neat in an immaculate starched blue robe, very relieved and happy to see us. ‘We were speechless — except Papa, who paused only long enough to make one withering comment before he passed on into the house, leaving poor Ah Ming shrivelled to half his already diminutive size. Papa said: “Next time more better my catchee one piece Amah take care you.’PICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 19 It was Mamma who drew out the story of what really happened to Ah Ming. When he found he had lost us in the crowds of Hangchow, it had never crossed his mind that we would postpone our departure in order to look for him. He had sufficient money to hire a footboat, a tiny craft rather like a banana in shape, in which one man can sit, rowing very swiftly with both feet and hands. In this he had quickly got home to Shanghai, there to wait, wondering apprehensively what had become of us! THE CAVALCADE MOVES ONCE MORE Papa’s remark had made Ah Ming ‘lose face.’ This the Chinese cannot endure. Indeed, Ah Ming felt it so deeply that when, a few months later, Papa asked him to go with us to America again, he timidly expressed his unwillingness to leave his native land. j This was rather a flying trip, and when we returned to Shanghai again, a charming young English girl had been added to the family as my governess. The battles over mental arithmetic each morning had exhausted Mamma’s patience, and she thought that it would be just as well to have someone to teach me the few things I would consent to learn. Miss Cockerell was a delight- ful companion and she and I had a very jolly time together, besides devoting our attention to the afore- said neglected subjects. She also attempted to instil the rudiments of learning into my little brother Geof- frey, who, I may say, showed a firm opposition to be- coming a sage. Tt was not long, however, before Papa decided to retire from China in order that Geoffrey and I could go20 FIRECRACKER LAND to regular school, so we went ‘home’ to Boston to live. Curious as it may seem, Western children who live in China always think of some place in the West as ‘home.’ Americans, English, French, Italians, and all the other foreigners always speak of going ‘home’ when they are going to their respective lands, although the visit be for no more than a few months; and even the Chinese refer to the various foreign countries as ‘homeside.’ I am sure that Amah and Ah Ming thought that Boston was really named ‘Homeside.’ We were all greatly excited at the prospect of the journey because we were going to travel over the newly opened Canadian Pacific Railway. How well I remem- ber the wooden trestle bridges in the cavernous ravines among the mountains! So great was the fear of fire from engine sparks that barrels of water were placed at intervals of a few feet on these bridges and men were stationed at either end ready to dash forward to put out any sparks that might fall. There were no dining-cars in those days, so three times a day the train waited for us while we had our meals. It was an agitating proceeding, so far as I was concerned, as I never could rid myself of the fear lest the train depart and leave us behind. I would sit on my high stool, hastily trying to swallow apple pie or clam soup, listening apprehensively the while for the clang- ing of the bell that announced the train’s departure. LIFE IN BOSTON The next ten years were spent in Boston, going to school, studying the violin, attending the opera and thePICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 21 theatre. It was at this time that I came to know Amy Lowell, but of this and other friendships I shall tell later. In due course I ‘came out,’ went to dances and various parties, and my life was like that of other American girls. Nevertheless, I always felt as though I were a part of China, and I remember that, at the time of the short and tragic Japanese-Chinese war of 1894, Thad a pitched battle of my own in the middle of a ball- room with a young man of my acquaintance. He had dared to criticize the fighting powers of the Chinese, laughing at what I consider their exceedingly sensible habit of carrying umbrellas into action. The Chinese soldier, as I hotly explained to him, used his umbrella as a tent and curled up under it at night. Looking back across the years, I can see myself standing in an interval between the dances on the shining floor of that oval- shaped ballroom, shaking my fist at that young man because in my opinion he was so completely lacking in appreciation of my beloved Chinese. I remember even the dress I was wearing. Such a lovely dress! It was petunia brocade shot with silver. The bodice was made of silk chrysanthemums coloured maroon, gold, pale pink, and cream, all veiled with spangled white tulle. BACK IN SHANGHAI China was never very far from my mind, so when in the summer of 1897 Papa said that he must go out for the winter, Mamma and I were very willing to go with him. We had been away for nearly ten years, and on first arriving in Shanghai we visited friends who still lived in the way of the old-fashioned traders — that is to say, in a Hong. A Hong is a business firm, and the22 FIRECRACKER LAND premises they use are also called their Hong. In the old days, the Hong was a self-contained establishment in which all the foreign members of the firm lived together. This one was a huge compound, with a watchman at the gate. It stood opposite the cathedral. Inside the com- pound were a number of buildings; the large house with deep verandahs, the offices downstairs, the residential part upstairs; behind, godowns for silk, tea, and piece- goods. The whole was surrounded by a high wall. The Amah of the establishment was a most delightful old lady who had been with our friends for many years. She was very large and stout, which made movement on her bound feet difficult, so she liked pottering about taking care of our clothes or sitting in the tailor’s room sewing. I used to delight to converse with her, and I remember one day discussing religion at great length. She expressed herself as very much interested in Christianity, so I asked her why she did not become a Christian. She sighed and laid down her work. “Young Missee b’long so fashion,’ she said. ‘My just now b’long old woman. Soon must wantchee die. My glave all ready.’ Her face shone with satisfaction as she described the site which had been chosen by the geo- mancers as her last resting-place. ‘My glave b’long number one place. Winter time have got sun. Summer time have got wind.’ She then went on to describe the graveclothes which she had prepared for herself — all of excellent quality silk. The Chinese believe that the dead arrive in the other world looking exactly as they did when they left this one; therefore, it was very important to be buried in the best clothes one could afford. Well-to-do womenPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 23 save their wedding dress for this purpose. But women of the poorer classes, who have to hire a bridal robe, buy themselves later in life the sober dark silk dress worn by middle-aged women on festival occasions. The Amah was not the only important member of this household. The Number One Boy, a tall severe- looking Chinese, whose ivory face seldom betrayed emotion, managed everything and managed it in his own way — which was sometimes exceedingly irritating to his employers. I remember coming down to break- fast one morning to find our host with a slightly heightened colour and an air of suppressed triumph. When the boy left the room to fetch my bacon and eggs, my host burst out: ‘Number One Boy and I have just fought Waterloo.’ He paused, and added impressively — ‘And I am Wellington.’ After we had spent a few weeks in this hospitable Hong, we moved to a flat on the Bund overlooking the busy Whangpoo, or Yellow Reach River. Here one could see craft of infinite variety passing all day long under our windows. One longed to flatten one’s nose against the pane from morning till night watching the brown-sailed junks, and their crews in bright blue cotton clothes. There were sampans, which looked like little cockleshells dancing on the swiftly flowing river, their scarlet prows sharply upturned and their white- lacquered hoods shining in the sun. There were lumber- ing cargo boats tied in flotillas and drawn by puffing steam launches, merchant steamers, both coasters and ocean-going, and always the European men-of-war. Tt was a very gay winter. We dined and lunched and danced almost daily, and between times I rode across24 FIRECRACKER LAND country on the white China pony which Papa gave me as a Christmas present. I remember a specially de- lightful fancy-dress ball, given by a group of bachelors who called themselves the ‘Four and Twenty Black- birds.’ Mamma, who was very clever at instructing the Chinese tailor how to carry out her ideas, wore an en- chanting dress. She went as a bottle of champagne. The body of the dress was of dark green satin, the bodice was gold, while powdered hair and a white tulle ruff represented the foam. A cap made in the form of a cork surmounted the whole. I myself went as one of a quadrille. Quadrilles were very popular in my young days. We went, four girls and four men, dressed as the four queens and the four knaves. We danced together all the evening. But life was not all a whirl of gaiety. I was very much interested in the Chinese about me, and went sight-seeing as much as possible. It was not considered desirable to visit the native city, which at that time was unspeakably filthy, so it was very difficult for me to persuade anyone to take me there. But I was de- termined to go. I expressed my desire one evening to a tall Englishman who sat next to me at dinner, and he cordially invited me to make an expedition with him. I induced Papa to agree to my going, and set off with my escort (who, though I had no idea of it then, was later to be my husband). It was my first glimpse of the overhanging houses, the brilliantly painted shops hung with signs made of cotton cloth or painted wood. The crowds were almost overpowering and the shrill cries of vendors mingled with the imprecations of carriers who thrust their way through the masses of humanity,PICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 25 their burdens dangling from the long carrying-poles across their shoulders. Although later I came to love the walled Chinese city, I must confess that my first impression was rather one of revulsion. The unbelievably narrow, roughly cobbled streets were slippery with filth and the smells were noisome. But worst of all were the beggars. I did not know at that time that beggary is a trade in China, and my heart was wrung by the miserable creatures who displayed their deformities as they crouched by the roadside. Their dreadful and monotonous cries rang in my ears so persistently that next day I insisted that my unfortunate escort should go back and carry money to a particularly pathetic old woman whom we had seen. Just before leaving for Boston again, I became en- gaged to this very escort, so when I sailed down the Whangpoo, I knew that I should soon be coming back again. And, indeed, in less than a year I arrived once more in Shanghai, this time as a bride. LIFE AS A BRIDE IN SHANGHAI Our first anxiety was to find a home, because the Hong where my husband had been living had lately been sold, and in all the thickly settled quarter of Shanghai there seemed no roof to cover a newly married pair. The pleasanter outlying districts were impractical as no street cars existed at that time. The introduction of street cars was, however, at that moment being discussed, and it passed my comprehen- sion that anyone could object to having them. In this connection, I remember an occasion when I disgraced myself. It was at a huge race tiffin. At least twenty-26 FIRECRACKER LAND five guests were sitting at the largest round table I had ever seen. Beside me was a charming elderly gentleman, head of a large Hong, member of the municipal council, one of the most respected members of society, who, to my amazement, insisted that the advent of street cars would be a disadvantage to Shanghai. I began to argue hotly. A few moments later, I became aware that a silence had fallen on the rest of the table, and to my horror heard my own voice, loud and clear, announcing to my astonished neighbour, ‘You might just as well have come out of the ark!” SOME MEMBERS OF OUR STAFF Some years later, street cars were installed, but meanwhile we had been obliged to have our own pony and carriage, as the house we had taken was out of town. Our pony, named Protector, was a character. He was a dun, with a black stripe down his spine, and had come from Mongolia with a ‘mob of griffins.’ ‘Griffin’ is the name given to the shaggy-haired, long- tailed, untamed ponies driven down each spring and autumn from the grassy plains of the North. Protector had been bought and trained as a race pony. He was very fast and amazingly strong, and had he wished could undoubtedly have won ‘The Champions’ — the chief race of the Shanghai course. But such effort was not to his taste. The first time he ran, he won; ap- parently in spite of himself. The jockey dropped off his back in a state of exhaustion, exclaiming, ‘If two men rode him, he would win anything! But no one man can push him past the post.” T often felt that a donkey must have existed some-PICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 27 where in Protector’s family tree, as his characteristics were those of a mule. One flick of the whip was suf- ficient to make him stop dead. But if I cooed at him in dulcet tones he would deign to draw the brougham at quite a respectable rate. He and Number One Mafoo, who sat curled up on the carriage box and the moment we stopped whipped out a tiny Chinese novel to read, added greatly to the amusement of my days. Amah, who is still in my employ, came to me the day after I reached Shanghai as a bride. For over a quarter of a century, she has been a kind but firm dictator and has ruled the conduct of my life. As a matter of fact, she ruled the household, because Number One Boy, supposedly the head of the domestic staff, was not only much younger than she, but was also related to her. Moreover, she had proposed him for the post. When Amah came to me, she was still quite young. She was a widow, and her only son had been left at the family home in Ning-Po. She was quite pretty, accord- ing to Chinese standards; that is to say, her face was very round, her creamy skin was very smooth, her eyes were properly slanted, and, best of all, her bound feet were very small. When she walked the house shook. This was because, since the whole front part of the foot is broken back under the heel, the ‘lily-footed lady’ is simply walking on stumps. This seems to us a very horrible deformity, but only a year or two ago, Amah held forth to me at length on how hideous she thought the unbound feet of the modern Chinese girl. Very definite in her opinions is Amah, as the various stories T shall tell about her in the pages to come will show.28 FIRECRACKER LAND THE BOXER YEAR At the time of the Boxer Rising, we were living in a little house which I had jokingly christened ‘The Moated Grange’ because it was approached by a bridge over a creek. Chinese names and thought as yet meant nothing to me, for I was still engrossed in my new domestic happiness. But it was impossible not to be stirred to the depths by the events that crowded upon us in the summer of 1900. In the spring of that year a curious incident happened which was later thought by the Chinese about us to have had a bearing on subsequent events. Suddenly, on a day that gave no hint of storm, a darkness which lasted about fifteen minutes spread over the land. Men and beasts were terrified at this unexplained happening, and later the populace declared that during the dark- ness the ‘Boxers’ had come down from the sky. The story of their rising is a page of history which can be read fully elsewhere. But I can give you a glimpse of what was happening round us at this time. In brief, then, the Boxers were a band of youths who believed themselves to have magic powers. They declared that neither bullets nor swords could injure them and they were fanatically anti-Christian and anti-foreign. For reasons too complicated to explain, the Empress Dowager and the Imperial Clan encouraged them, and the position of foreigners — to say nothing of the un- fortunate Chinese Christians who were massacred in thousands — was therefore very dangerous. The trouble was most serious in the North, and on June 13, forces of Boxers wearing red sashes and armedPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 29 with swords and spears rushed into Peking. Events crowded upon one another and we in the Yangtze Valley read with amazement of what took place. The German Minister, on his way to a meeting ar- ranged by the Chinese authorities, was murdered in the street, and his murderer obtained special promotion and reward. News came that the Empress Dowager herself was reported to have said: ‘The insults of these for- eigners pass all bounds! Let us exterminate them before we eat our morning meal.’ By June 20 the Legations in Peking were besieged and it was impossible to learn whether the people there incarcerated were alive or dead. We were dreadfully anxious, for the rumours flying back and forth were terrifying. Although we did not know it until later, the reason that the trouble did not reach the South was that two courageous Chinese officials in Peking changed the famous ‘Extermination Edict,’ so that instead of reading, as the Empress intended it should do, ‘Kill all foreigners,’ it read ‘Save all foreigners.’ They, poor men, lost their heads; but we in the South were saved. Everyone’s nerves, however, were stretched and I shall never forget the night when Mamma, who with Papa was paying us a visit, roused us all in the dead of night and declared that she had seen cannons being drawn down the road in front of the house. My hus- band went out to investigate and discovered that logs were being taken to a neighbouring woodyard! Poor Mamma. We laughed her to scorn, but as a matter of fact, we had all felt a peculiar sensation in the middle of our persons at the thought of cannons so near our door.30 FIRECRACKER LAND Although no fighting occurred near us, the troops of the various nations whose citizens were shut up in Peking, all assembled in Shanghai before travelling North, and the great review which took place on the race-course in front of Field Marshal General von Waldersee was a remarkable sight. As the sacred person of the German Minister had suffered insult and death, the Germans had a more vital interest than anyone else. Besides, there was no other Field Marshal in the Far East, so he, sitting high on his horse in a most gorgeous uniform, took the salute. Before him marched his own men performing their goose step in a wonderful way; then came a great variety of Indian troops, some on magnificent horses; French colonial troops from Annam, the large fat officers looking too absurd on tiny Annamite ponies. There were British troops, too, and lots of Americans; there were also Japanese and last, but in our eyes by no means least, our own brave Volunteers. WILD GOOSE HAPPINESS HOUSE After the Boxer troubles — that is to say, in the fol- lowing year — Papa said to me one day, ‘Would you like me to build you a house?” Naturally I was immensely excited and preparations at once began. We explored the surroundings of Shanghai and finally chose a piece of ground which seemed to us delightful. It was far out of Shanghai and I saw possibilities of making a large garden. There was nothing very original about the plan, as my idea was to make it as much like an American house as possible. How well I succeeded may be judged byPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 31 A CHINESE GARDEN the fact that a globe-trotter who was visiting me looked round her and remarked, ‘Dear me! I declare I might think myself in Bar Harbor, Maine.’ My husband agreed with me, however, that the name32 FIRECRACKER LAND at least should be Chinese, and we asked the advice of his Comprador, who was the head of the Chinese staff in the office and the go-between of the foreign and native merchants. He was deeply interested in our plans and suggested various names. The one he urged on us was ‘The Hall of Purple Delights.’ But the one we more prosaic Westerners chose was, Hung Fo Zah, ‘Great Happiness House,’ and it was not until years later, when I began to study Chinese, that I realized that the character Hung, which he had chosen for ‘Great,’ means primarily wild goose. Because the wild goose is the bird of limitless spaces, it means limitless or great. Thereupon I at once changed the English translation, and the name of our home became ‘Wild Goose Happiness House.’ 1 BEGIN TO STUDY CHINESE It was by a pure chance that I began the study of Chinese. My friends didn’t do it; and one is much like a sheep in such matters, especially when one is young and absorbed. Once or twice I did speak of beginning, but cold water was always thrown on my plans. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t! Jenks studied the language and soon went mad!’ ‘Study Chinese? Don’t be such a fool — you will certainly lose your wits if you do.’ Such were the remarks that met my proposals, so I let the matter rest, and the years rolled on. Finally, in the summer of 1905, during a spell of intense heat, a friend of ours, a little old Bishop, came to visit us. He was a sad, disappointed little man with a grizzled beard. He looked indeed rather like a pixie, only pixies are apt to smile, and he only worried! OnePICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 33 hot day succeeded another and the thermometer rose until it reached 103° Fahrenheit, where it stayed. The little Bishop in his black cloth gaiters looked too miserable for words. Finally I begged him to adopt some other attire. “If you can bear to wear the gaiters,’ I said, ‘it is all very well, but J can’t bear to look at them.’ ‘Would you really not mind if I changed?’ asked he, and promptly trotted upstairs to act upon his words; coming down shortly in a pair of sensible black alpaca trousers. Thad succeeded in making his person more comfort- able, but to set his mind at ease seemed beyond me! At last I had a happy thought, inspired by a dear little pocket dictionary which he owned. ‘Will you not teach me to use a Chinese dictionary?’ I begged. He was perfectly delighted to do so. We drove to town in the brougham because it was really too hot for the victoria (even strong Protector trotted in a very leisurely manner), and bought a copy of the dictionary for me. It is called ‘The Student’s Four Thousand Tzu’ and ‘General Pocket Dictionary,’ by W. E. Soothill, and is still my beloved, though sadly thumbed, companion. And so I began to tread the stony path of Chinese learning, led by a sad, disappointed little Bishop whom I tried to keep from brooding over things which had gone awry. Naturally we did not progress very far; he sailed for England, and I pottered away with the dic- tionary alone. Not until several years later did I take the great step of engaging a Chinese teacher. Mr. Hsii, my first pedagogue, was a slim and vener-34 FIRECRACKER LAND able person. Besides his deep Chinese learning, he possessed a little English and was regarded with awe by the staff. I remember one day he was asked to advise on some matter of building. He and I, accom- panied by Number One Boy, and followed by gardeners, mafoos, and builders, proceeded to the spot in question, A ladder was produced and Teacher Hsii solemnly mounted. Everybody was alarmed. Number One Boy and several others held the ladder; Amah, who was always present when anything was up, gave directions, and there arose a perfect chorus of ‘Hsiao hsin! Hsiao hsin!’ —‘Little heart! Little heart!’ —the Chinese way of saying ‘Take care! Take care!’ J had been up that ladder a dozen times and no one had bothered about me, but with a scholar it was another matter! Teacher Hsii went away to Hankow and was suc- ceeded by Teacher Wang, who, although not very learned from a Chinese point of view, had a wonderful talent for acting! He told me dramatic stories — with action; hiding behind my chair to represent a tiger in his hole, or striding about waving his arms when he took the part of both armies in a battle. Teacher Wang, although amusing, was not very satisfactory (he knew nothing of poetry, for instance), so I found a certain Teacher Chang, a very grave person with a great sense of his own importance. He had ac- companied a British diplomatic mission to Tibet as interpreter, and being so travelled himself had a scorn for his country-people who were less well informed. One day when we were looking at a picture of a dog of Fo with its curly mane, he said with ineffable scorn: “People — Chinese people — think that it is a lion! But I, who have seen a lion, know better!’PICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 30 Even Mr. Chang did not provide a truly sympathetic feeling for poetry, so when I began the work on my book of poems, ‘Fir Flower Tablets,’ translated from the Chinese, I sought further still for an interpreter of this art. A venerable old Manchu gentleman was the first candidate I tried, but work with him was hopeless, and the mistakes he made were devastating. It seemed hard-hearted to tell him that he must go, as I knew he was in want, and, after the Chinese Revolution had broken out, it was very difficult for a Manchu to find any post. Treated as aliens, hounded from pillar to post, they had a miserable time. I felt, however, that my translation was too near my heart to be sacrificed even to charity, so I steeled myself to the necessity and searched once more. At last what my husband calls my ‘confounded perseverance’ was requited — I found Teacher Nung, of whom much more later, and from him I gained nine tenths of the knowledge I have. HONORARY LIBRARIAN OF THE ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY All this while my interest in things Chinese had been growing. And in 1907, I had a new activity, in addition to my own studies. I became the Honorary Librarian of the Royal Asiatic Society, a post which I filled with great pleasure, to myself at least, for sixteen years. I did not feel in the least adequate to work in such a learned society. The other members on the council were all venerable gentlemen noted in the field of scholarship. But the way it came about was as follows: I went one day to the library of the society and the amiable young Chinese in charge allowed me, although I was not a member, to take away several valuable36 FIRECRACKER LAND books. I tried in vain to find the library open that I might return them. I felt the books heavy on my conscience and, as he happened to take me in to din- ner one night, told the secretary of the society, a very learned gentleman indeed, of my plight. He talked at length about books, about the library, about Chinese matters in general, and about the dif- ficulties of administrating the library in particular, and I parted from him feeling my already keen interest a thousand times keener. I determined to join the society and read everything possible about China. A day or two later, the telephone rang and at the other end I heard the voice of the British Consul- General, a delightful old gentleman who tempered his scholarship with humour and who looked benevolently at the world through a monocle. He was a great friend of mine, and I always rejoiced when he brought ‘Damn- It,’ his beloved spaniel, to tea. Upon this occasion his voice came clearly over the wires; he said: “We had a meeting of the R.A.S. Council this afternoon and we decided to ask you to become Honorary Librarian and recatalogue the library.’ ‘Why, Sir Pelham!’ I replied, ‘I know nothing about cataloguing books.’ “Neither do any of us,’ he answered cheerily, ‘and you have more time to learn than we have!’ The long and short of it was that I agreed to fill the post. Of course, if we had been in America or England, where professional librarians were to be had, this would have been absurd, but as it was, some inexperienced person had to do it and I was very fortunate in being the one chosen. One of the great advantages of livingPICTURES OF A CHINESE BACKGROUND 37 far from the centre of things is that one has all sorts of opportunities denied to people who live where profes- sionals can be turned to at any moment. The library was not large, but held the most im- portant books on China and the Far East, and, in spite of many agonizing moments when trying to decide where a book should be placed, I enjoyed my work immensely. It is difficult to imagine more fascinating work than that which leads along the roads trodden by great writers of the past and present, and even though one cannot read all the books one catalogues, the mere handling of them brings an awareness of their being. BUILDING THE GRASS HUT After we had lived for twenty happy years in Wild Goose Happiness House, my husband retired from business and we decided to give up China as our head- quarters. It was thus no longer practical to keep the house, and we knew we must sell it, and our adored garden, as well. However, we could not endure the thought of having no home at all in China, to which we could sometimes return, so in the end we kept a corner of the garden and there we built a house in Chinese style, calling it ‘The Grass Hut.’ During the twenty years we had lived in the Wild Goose Happiness House, my knowledge of China had steadily grown. My interest in its life and thought was deep. So, with our new house, I no longer wished to reproduce anything Western. My one idea was to have it as truly Chinese as possible. Into its building I wished to put all the poetry, all the legends which the Chinese themselves put into the building of their own homes.38 FIRECRACKER LAND And day by day, as the Grass Hut by the Yellow Reach grew into reality, this dream of mine, too, became reality. The story of the building of the Grass Hut, which is still the corner of China I can call my own, follows in the next chapter.CHAPTER II PICTURES UNDER A CHINESE RIDGEPOLE CHOOSING A HOUSE BY DIVINATION. By Washing-flowers Stream waters, at waters’ western end, Because of retired pool and forest, I, the owner, have ‘divined’ my house. I was already aware that in the outlying district dust of the world was rare, But found also a clear stream which washed clean the traveller’s grief. I cannot count the dragon-flies which, linked, rise up float down; There is a single pair of ruddy water-birds which together swim and dive. The journey to the East is ten thousand /i — this place is worthy; I will profit by it and rejoice... ‘Tu Fu: The Autobiography of a Chinese PoctCHAPTER II Pictures under a Chinese Ridgepole I BUILD THE GRASS HUT BY THE YELLOW REACH As Thave told you, for years my interest in the thoughts and the beliefs and the theories of the Chinese had been steadily growing. But until we built the Grass Hut, I had not realized how truly these thoughts and beliefs and theories were still a part of the everyday life of those around me. True, I had studied earnestly and carefully with my teacher, Nung Chu hsien shéng, which means ‘Teacher Cultivator-of-Bamboos.’ But I needed the building of the Grass Hut to open my eyes. And once I had grasped the fact that there by the Yellow Reach our building foreman, his assistants, and even the little apprentices were being guided by these ancient beliefs and legends, my fascination was limit- less. I watched each little step of the work. I plied Mr. Cultivator-of-Bamboos with questions. I rushed to the Royal Asiatic Society for books which would explain this or that. And I promptly began a journal about it all. Into this journal I put a record of just what was being done, step by step, to create for my husband and me a real Chinese home. But as I went along, I added, as well, this or that ancient legend that was leaping into life, there by the Yellow Reach. I wrote of the old, old beliefs that still held sway. And it is part of this journal of mine which I shall now give you in the hope that you42 FIRECRACKER LAND may see what I saw and come under something of the same spell. PLANNING THE GRASS HUT During the Period of Slight Heat Eleven hundred and sixty-four years ago, the poet Tu Fu and his family arrived in Chéngtu, capital of Szechuen. They had fled from before the Mongol tribes which were devastating the Empire and had suf- fered many hardships on the way. So when they arrived in the Embroidered City, as the writers call Chéngtu, they were thankful to find a peaceful corner in a quiet suburb, and there Tu Fu built his Grass-Hut- on-the-Washed-Flowers-Stream. Students often refer to their houses as 7's’ao T’ang, ‘Grass Huts,’ whether they are actually of the thatched variety or not, so I have chosen Tu Fu’s house as the prototype for mine, which will be the Grass-Hut-by-the-Yellow-Reach. I only wish that I could adopt his principles in build- ing mine. When he arrived in Chéngtu, he chose his site by the aid of divination and then wrote charming little poems to his various friends asking for this, that, and the other, to place in his Grass Hut. Methods by the Yellow Reach are more prosaic: the Municipal Council issues a permit and sends overseers to supervise the work, which must reach a certain standard, and people nowadays would hardly respond to poems even if I could write them. However, all the preliminaries have been accomplished, and as I write, strains of the workmen’s song float towards me through the shimmering heat of a July day. The workmen are pounding down the foundations. The process is in-PICTURES UNDER A CHINESE RIDGEPOLE 43 teresting and the song they sing full of rhythm. A gang of men, under a foreman, lift and drop alter- nately a heavy block of wood like a pile-driver, and it is by means of the song that unity of effort is preserved. The foreman sings an extempore verse, about any- thing in the world that may take his fancy and the men pound rhythmically and dully as he does so, but when he stops, they all join in a frenzied chorus of meaning- less sounds, doubling the time of their beats and causing the heavy block to dance along the surface of broken bricks and semi-liquid mortar. I wonder what they are singing about at the Grass Hut? The other day a friend of mine met a charming English girl beside a plot of ground where building was in progress. Her hair was of the proverbial ‘spun gold’ and her eyes ‘like violets under water,’ but this was the song he heard the builders sing: Foreman: There is a foreign woman — a foreign woman. Men: Ah — ai— ah — ai—ah. Foreman: Her hair — her hair—her hair—it is the colour — the colour of straw. Men: Ah — ai — ah — ai— ah — ai. Foreman: Her eyes — her eyes — her eyes — Men: Ah — ai — ah — ai — ah. Foreman: Her eyes are like an old blue coat. Men: Ah — ai— ah — ai — ah. Foreman: Like an old blue coat, a beggar would throw away. The plan of my hut is simple. A series of alternating courtyards and buildings. The first house will consist of reception rooms, the second of bedrooms, and two of servants’ quarters and offices. There is to be no upperSl, Lee deft THE PLAN OF MY HUTPICTURES UNDER A CHINESE RIDGEPOLE 45 story, so the indoor and outdoor rooms will all be on the ground. I continually reiterate that it is to be like the cottages of Kiangsu, and that I want to observe all time-honoured customs while it is being built. The contractor seems a nice man, but as he only talks the Shanghai dialect, all my communications with him are through the Boy, in pidgin English. His name is Ping Yung, and he is most dramatic when he talks. Although he can neither read nor write, he is, I believe, a wonderful story-teller, and tells long historical tales, impersonating men or women, greybeards or brave warriors, with equal ease. We had a discussion over placing the garage, which is of course not an integral part of the Kiangsu cottage, and finally decided on a suitable corner facing the road beside the Great Gate. I suggested that it should be of the plainest description, with none of the decoration which is to adorn the rest. Ping Yung thought earnestly for some time and then said, ‘How can the East-Household-Lady ask such a thing? It will stand by the road; everybody will see it; and they will think that the house is like a person who wears a fine coat but a poor waistcoat. No, the garage should look as though it were a garden pavilion, is this not so?’ His argument was unanswerable. The East-House- hold-Lady meekly acquiesced, and it was decided that the garage should have a beautiful roof with a crane of longevity perched in the centre. I may remark paren- thetically that ‘East-Household-Lady’ is a polite form of address to the mistress of the house. A host always sits facing south, and the place of honour is on his left46 FIRECRACKER LAND hand. The east is, therefore, an honourable position and the Master of a house is called ‘East-House- hold.’ To return to the building. This is always supposed by Chinese to be rather a dangerous proceeding. The mere fact of moving earth is in their eyes questionable. HIGH BAMBOO POLE WITH BASKETWORK SEVEI There is no knowing what spirits may be disturbed; and if they are disturbed, they will in all probability wreak vengeance on someone. The workmen, therefore, tie a bunch of boughs to the end of each scaffolding pole, hoping that any mischievous elves may mistake the building site for a grove of trees and pass it by. I notice, too, that the people in the next-door village have erected a high bamboo pole and have hung fromPICTURES UNDER A CHINESE RIDGEPOLE 47 the top a large flat basket-work sieve, such as is used for sifting earth, with a mirror fastened to the centre. It is well known that only good influences can pass through a sieve, and that a mirror has the power of turning evil influences into good fortune. I hope that this may prove to be the case and that our good neighbours behind the warp and woof of their bamboo fences may not suffer disaster from our building operations. THE HOUSES OF CHINA Chinese houses are built upon the same principle as our reinforced concrete buildings — that is, the frame- work which supports the roof is first placed in position and the walls are filled in afterward. The framework is of wood and the parts must first be carefully prepared and mortised together, so the ridgepole cannot be raised until some little time after the foundations are pounded in. Asa rule, no nails are used in the construction of a Chinese house, and those required to nail down the non-Chinese floor boards we intend to have are an extra item in the contract. In China, the rich use a paving of tiles or fine stone, and the poor are content with Mother Earth for their flooring. The woodwork takes some time to make ready, as in Kiangsu the transverse beams of the guest-hall are usually carved with historical scenes and figures of legendary and actual characters. It is the custom to devote the principal beam, facing south, to a scene from the life of some hero whom one especially admires; Chu-ko Liang, the wise and self-effacing minister of Liu Pei, is very popular, and so is Kuo Tzi-i, the saviour of the T’ang Dynasty; but I have chosen48 FIRECRACKER LAND Yo Fei, who is, to me, one of the most sympathetic characters in Chinese history. He lived at the close of the Sung Dynasty and was terribly distressed at the supine conduct of the Em- peror, who would not support him in his effort to drive back the Golden Tartars who were then invading China. As a matter of fact, the Emperor was completely under the influence of the Prime Minister Ch’in Kuei, who in his turn was in the pay of the Golden Tartars. One of their officers wrote Ch’in Kuei privately, saying: ‘You are always talking of “peace, peace, peace,” and at the same time here in the North Yo Fei does nothing but fight, fight, fight. Kill him, and then there will be peace.’ So Ch’in Kuei spun a web of treachery about Yo Fei and contrived that he should be thrown into prison on various trumped-up charges. His case was at once in- vestigated, and, when being questioned by the Imperial Envoy, Yo Fei took off his coat and showed four large characters which his mother had tattooed on his back when he was a boy: Ch’in chung pao kuo (‘To the last loyal in defence of the country’). Nothing could be proved against him nor against his son Yo Yiin, who also was a prisoner, so one day Ch’in Kuei called a messenger and sent a very small ‘writing’ into the prison addressed to the head jailer; whereupon the jailer, in a memorial to the Throne, reported that Yo Fei was dead. This was on the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth Moon, a.p. 1141. Snow was falling and it was very cold. The beam in my Guest-Hall shows the scene when Yo Fei bares his back. It is carved on the south side ofPICTURES UNDER A CHINESE RIDGEPOLE 49 the southern beam, and I fear that its position will be so high and honourable that no one will see it. On the back of the southern beam is a large group showing Yo Fei’s son, at the battle of Ox Head Hill, and on the front of the north beam Chao Yiin, a hero at the time of the Three Kingdoms, is seen escaping from the battle-field of the Long Sloping Bank, with Liu Pei’s infant son safely tucked in the fold of his coat. The short beams at the sides show a whole galaxy of my friends, such as Li T’ai-po, the poet; Wang Hsi-chih, the wonderful calli- graphist; the Ho Ho twins, who died of laughter in their joy over inventing the abacus; the Eight Immortals, who live among the peach trees of the Western Paradise; and so on. The carving is in fairly high relief and the background is darkened, so the figures, which are uncoloured, stand out very clearly. Workmen came from the city to carve the beams and worked with great speed, sureness, and freedom. A slight outline in black ink was all they had to guide them. At one time it seemed rather doubtful whether the carving would be ready for the appointed day, so enormous arc lights were hung in the working- shed, and the woodcarvers worked throughout several nights. Everything was in readiness for the ceremony this morning. Feast for the Patron Saint ‘Twenty-Sixth Day of the Sixth Moon It has been a brilliant day of intense heat. The sky was that marvellous delphinium blue which one often sees in Central China, and a strong fresh breeze blew enormous billowy clouds up from out of the Yellow Sea.50 FIRECRACKER LAND By ten o’clock the whole countryside had assembled, and kept up a continuous beating of gongs, clashing of cymbals, and popping of firecrackers. Light and fire are supposed to be destructive to spirits which are ac- customed to the World of Shade. This being the case, fire, candles, and lanterns are used by the whole Chinese nation as a protection from evil. To increase the awe-inspiring effect of bonfires, it is said that in the Dark Ages pieces of bamboo which pro- duced a crackling, popping noise were thrown into the flames. Later, tubes of paper filled with gunpowder took the place of bamboos, and these have developed into the firecrackers of infinite variety in use today. I suppose that the terrifying effect of noise is at the root of the conviction that drums, cymbals, and gongs are a protection against demons. At all events, noise-making: in China is a work of merit. The din this morning was well organized; and, let us hope, effective. In front of the space which will be the Guest-Hall a chair was placed facing south. It held a long strip of paper stamped with a brightly coloured portrait of Lu Pan, Patron Saint of Carpenters. In real life he was a youth named Pan, of the K’ung Clan, living in the State of Lu, about 400 B.c. During his apprenticeship he devoted himself to the arts of sculpture, drawing, and the chiselling of metal. He made plans of palaces, built boats, carts, and various contrivances. It is said that he married a lady named Cloud who was skilful in the making of artistic vases. At the age of forty, he became a hermit on Mount Li and was there initiated into secrets of sorcery, which en- abled him to float about the world on a cloud and toPICTURES UNDER A CHINESE RIDGEPOLE 51 move with ease to the heavenly regions. He is also said to have made wooden magpies that could fly. With Chang Pan, Patron Saint of Masons, he is sup- posed to have built a palace in the peach gardens of the Jade Emperor, and carpenters say that when the pillars of Heaven were menaced with ruin, Lu Pan was en- trusted with the task of repairing them. During the Ming Dynasty, about a.p. 1415, a thousand years after his death, he was given the title ‘Great Master and Support of the Empire,’ and it is said that his spirit will certainly give ear to prayers offered by arti- sans. The feast spread before Lu Pan’s effigy this morning was of a most complicated nature. Every item on the menu had a very distinct reason for being there. Num- ber Two Boy, by virtue of his past career as a teacher, always acts as Master of Ceremonies on occasions of pomp, and from the first streak of dawn he was hurrying about attending to various details. He has given me the following inventory. It reads: Lu Pan, First Instructor. Raising the ridgepole on a fortunate day. Items prepared: A Complete Happiness: This is a strip of scarlet paper upon which the words, “May great joy come on raising the beam,’ are written. It is pasted to the ridgepole before the rites begin. A Pair of Geese: Emblems of conjugal fidelity. A Pair of Fish: Because the word yi, fish, is a homonym of yi, a surplus or excess, the fish has become a symbol of riches.